


alone in a room

by milkvan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkvan/pseuds/milkvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wonwoo bakes a cake and learns to say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alone in a room

**Author's Note:**

> written for shiritori here (http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/519880.html)
> 
> i'm a new fan of svt (really got into them because of pretty u) so i don't really know wonwoo and mingyu all that much. if there's too much of OOC-ness, please close one eye. 
> 
> also i don't know how to bake cakes so yeah.

Behind him, the cake mixer whirs loudly. The steady drones of the whisk echo off the white tiles of the kitchen and for once, Wonwoo welcomes the noise that keeps the flittering ghosts of giggles and boyish grins away.

The tiny bottle of vanilla essence is picked up but set down on the counter moments later, the owner of the slim fingers deciding that orange zest is what he needs instead. A strange thing to add to a red velvet cake, he once thought out loud but a certain boy with a tantalizing curl of lips taught him that life is too short to be sticking closely to the recipe books. When he pointed out that recipes are meant to be followed, the younger boy just plucked the book out of his hands and tossed it to the side. Like a pawn tossed aside in a losing battle of chess, so go whatever protests he held at the tip of his tongue when the other swiftly captured his lips, silencing him for now there was a more pleasurable use of his tongue. 

Life is indeed too short, the time they spent together even shorter, like sand slipping through his fingers till there was nothing in his fist but a death certificate and the pieces of his shattered heart. It’s not fair, Wonwoo chokes back a sob, because now time seems to have left him behind (just like how Mingyu left him without so much as a proper goodbye). Each day, the second hand takes an eternity to make a full round around the face of his worn-out watch (the one Mingyu bought for him on their third anniversary), every minute a low groan echoing in the abysmal silence while the hours struggle to crawl along the cold floor against the waves of memories and regrets. 

Nothing has changed in the house. The younger one’s bedroom slippers still sit in a corner of the living room and his toothbrush hangs in the bathroom, a splash of yellow and orange in the otherwise dull grey tone of the walls. Comic books are stuffed haphazardly between Wonwoo’s favourite novels ( _“Can’t you learn to keep them in their rightful place?” “Don’t you think it’s a pictorial representation of how I came like a whirlwind into your life, all messy and un-shelvable?” “I can just throw all of them away, you know.” “You can’t throw your boyfriend away!”_ ) on the bookshelf and one of the walls in the study remains pinned full of doodles, Polaroids and notes written in a chicken scrawl on paper napkins. (Love poems, Mingyu insisted. Wonwoo didn’t share the same conviction but he didn’t say anything because he’s weak like that.)

And yet, the absence of the other lingers in the house, coating everything with its fine grains of gloom like dust settling over unwanted furniture and closed windows. Some days, it creeps along his skin, goosebumps of blue and black reminding him of the way Mingyu’s fingers gripping his wrists and hips, of sinful touches and kisses under the covers. The worst days are when it sleeps next to him on the bed or when it sits across him, in the very same armchair Mingyu used to curl his large body into, and those are the days that Wonwoo can’t shut himself from the relentless memories flowing from the phantom, which he knows very well to be a creation of his own longing and grief. (But it’s hard to resist the phantom when it comes to visit him so he allows himself to drown in its embrace, feeling exactly like when they cuddle on the couch for their afternoon naps, nuzzling into each other’s skin after pizzas and movies.)

The noise stops and the cake mixer lies motionless, suddenly losing its very purpose in the silence. The recipe books are gone this time round but Wonwoo still remembers the steps involved and so he musters enough determination and begins to busy himself with the preparation of the cake. 

(Step 1: Kisses on the cheeks.  
Step 2: Eggs, sugar, flour and butter are mixed.  
Step 3: Smearing of the batter on each other’s faces.  
Step 4: Getting pinned down on the floor.  
Step 5: Popping the batter into the oven.  
Step 6: More kissing.  
Step 7: Proceeds to forget all about the cake sitting in the oven.)

 

 

An hour later, a full cake sits on the dining table. The plate in front of Wonwoo is empty, the dying rays of the setting sun outside the balcony doors tainting the whiteness a melancholic shade of auburn, which ironically also resembles the colour of the cake. A hollow laughter escapes him, mocking in the reverberations around the space. Everything is just a faint reminder of what lies ultimately for all, isn’t it? Death, the inevitable enemy that can never be crushed, having its finger in every business of life. 

One forkful of the cake is enough to drive the tears out from his eyes and he knows that there isn’t any way he can finish it, especially when he sweeps everything off the table in a moment of sobbing rage and the wreckage lies on the floor, very much similar to the state of his heart. 

A year has passed since Mingyu’s death in a car accident and Wonwoo still finds it no easier to move on. How does he even begin when his heart has been filled with everything Mingyu, when every corner of the house reminds him of something the other has said or done, when the other’s favourite blue hoodie is still slung over the back of the chair, as if Mingyu is going to appear through the door with a huge puppy grin that he adores so much. 

_“Life is too short for anything, Wonwoo-ah, but most of all, it’s too short to be living in the shadows of your past.”_

 

 

It’s late, Wonwoo knows without even looking at his watch. But he also knows that his friends have never turned him down or begrudged him, even when he has been nothing but a mess for the past year. (He also thinks he should just award himself with the title of the Most Shitty Friend Ever.)

It takes some time for the person to pick up the call but once Wonwoo hears the voice of his close friend, he grips the phone tight and cradles it to his ear. “Soonyoung? Can you and Seokmin come over tomorrow? … I need some help clearing his stuff.” 

The favour is simple but the sentiments and the courage behind it aren’t, and Wonwoo is grateful that Soonyoung is able to understand, not saying much but also ending the phone call with a deafening “YAH! YOU’RE PAYING FOR ICE-CREAM AFTER THAT.” 

(He’s thankful that even if everything changes, Soonyoung will never.)

He still doesn’t know how to move on, still feels lonely in the king-sized bed without Mingyu but at least he’s on Step 1 now and he wants to do this – for himself and for Mingyu, the one person who loved him ardently and completely. 

Even though it’s hard saying goodbye, it takes the heavy weight off his chest and for once, he can breathe through the grief.

**Author's Note:**

> never thought that my first svt fic will be angsty involving character death h a h a 
> 
> if you want, talk to me @ardentsvt!


End file.
